


marry me

by wordonawing



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Cupcakes, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, cosette and enjolras are siblings!!!, grantaire is a great cook, i was feeling down okay don't judge, unbearable fluff, yeah!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 13:07:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordonawing/pseuds/wordonawing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By the time their second anniversary rolls around, Grantaire has asked Enjolras to marry him three hundred and fifty-six times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	marry me

By the time their second anniversary rolls around (and Enjolras isn't even going to get into what he feels about that now but _holy shit it feels like two minutes_ ), Grantaire has asked Enjolras to marry him three hundred and fifty-six times.

Well, roughly. He only started counting once he noticed how frequently it was occurring.

There doesn't seem to be any kind of pattern to it; at least, not one that Enjolras can spot, and he likes to think he's become better at reading Grantaire, even if he's not a complete expert yet. The first time had been midway through their fourth date.

It was a cold day, and their cheeks and noses were flushed red by the time they ambled from the park to a coffee shop nearby, swinging their joined hands and occasionally ribbing each other good-naturedly. Grantaire was wearing a thick scarf (a present from Joly after he caught him sneaking out of the Musain with only a thin hoodie to protect him against the snow), the crimson tips of his ears just peeking out over the grey wool. He was playing with Enjolras's hand, running his fingers over the lines of his palm like he was trying to read his future, and made an adorably disgruntled face when Enjolras was forced to take his hand back to place their order at the counter.

He returned to find Grantaire, scarf and beanie discarded, doodling on his arm (where he managed to hide his art supplies about his person, Enjolras would never know). He looked up as Enjolras approached, his grin morphing into an expression of pure joy when he caught sight of what was in Enjolras's hands.

Enjolras took the seat opposite and set the cups down on the table, unwinding his own scarf from around his neck and shrugging off his coat. Grantaire was still gazing in adoration at the drinks.

"That," he said, practically drooling over the table, "is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen."

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "I thought I was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen?"

Grantaire waved a hand dismissively. "That was before I'd seen this...this goddess."

"It's just a cup of hot chocolate, Grantaire. Which is quickly going cold." Enjolras wrapped his frigid hands around his mug, drinking in the warmth. Grantaire quickly did the same, but didn't copy Enjolras in taking a sip, not quite yet.

"It's more than just a cup of hot chocolate, Enjolras! It has whipped cream. And mini marshmallows. And a flake. And toffee sauce. How did you know I liked toffee sauce?"

Enjolras shrugged, licking a splodge of whipped cream off his top lip. "I do notice some things, you know. Plus, let's face it, anyone who doesn't like toffee sauce is a philistine."

He looked up to find Grantaire staring at him with pretty much exactly the same expression as he'd had when he was staring at the hot chocolate.

"Marry me."

Enjolras snorted. "Drink your hot chocolate, Grantaire."

They come more frequently after that. Anything can provoke it, so long as it’s sufficiently nice; a kind smile, a warm hug, a sweet kiss in a public place (although this last usually involves some form of reaction from their friends, and so is for the most part avoided). Sometimes Grantaire doesn’t even seem to realise he’s saying it. Once, he'd mumbled it as they lay on the sofa, curled up together, his face burrowing into Enjolras’s chest. Enjolras had just pressed a little kiss between his brows and held him closer as they fell asleep.

His usual response is to laugh it off, or outright ignore it. Most times it works, but there are some occasions where Grantaire gets a strange look in his eye, and if Enjolras asks what’s wrong he'll just shake his head and smile and say, "Nothing to worry about, Apollo."

But Enjolras _does_ worry about it, because he loves Grantaire, loves him more than anything in the world and he wants to show him that, but he can never tell if Grantaire is serious when he asks Enjolras to marry him. He doesn’t even know if Grantaire believes in marriage, if they would get along if they were married, if they would somehow suddenly fall apart. But maybe Grantaire does want to marry him, wants it more than anything in the world and this is just his way of showing that. Enjolras doesn’t want everything to fall to shit just because he read the signs wrong.

He makes up his mind one day when they’re cooking in the kitchen (well, Grantaire is cooking. Enjolras is trying to stay out of the way and finish up an email to his boss, but Grantaire has flour on his nose and icing sugar sprinkled in his hair, and Enjolras would probably be doing something about that if he wasn’t shaking so much). Grantaire has just slotted the baking tray into the oven and turns around to face Enjolras, who’s leaning against the counter and pretending to be absorbed in his phone. He looks up to find Grantaire staring at him with that look of complete and utter adoration in his eyes that used to terrify Enjolras but now just makes his heart swell until he thinks it’s going to burst out of his chest.

Grantaire opens his mouth, but Enjolras beats him to it, dropping to one knee before he can talk himself out of it and pulling out the box that’s been burning a hole in his pocket for five days.

Grantaire’s jaw drops.

“Um,” says Enjolras. Why is it that, at all other times in his life, he has too many words, but the second they matter, they all up and leave him? “Would you - ?”

And then it’s fine because Grantaire is bending down and weaving his fingers into Enjolras’s hair and kissing his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, his chin and finally his mouth and murmuring “yes, yes, _yes_.”

 

* * *

 

They announce it at the next meeting, and the cheer that goes up is enough to bring the owner of the Musain storming into the back room yelling about the noise. He quickly calms down when Courfeyrac explains, and even gives Enjolras a slap on the back and shakes Grantaire’s hand enthusiastically before declaring that “all your drinks are on the house!” to another resounding cheer.

Courfeyrac is ecstatic, of course, bounding around like a puppy, jabbering about how he “knew it was meant to be” and gushing about how beautiful they’re going to look in their tuxes. Jehan rolls his eyes and gives both of them a fierce hug. Combeferre stays quiet, but he gives Enjolras’s shoulder a squeeze and his eyes get a little misty behind his glasses. Bahorel whoops and pounds the table until Feuilly punches him in the shoulder, and Joly and Bossuet and Musichetta all look ridiculously proud from their booth in the corner. Cosette hits Enjolras, shouts “ _why didn't you tell me before you asshole I'm your sister_ ” (completely ignoring his protests that it was literally six hours ago), and then pulls him into the tightest hug of his life while Marius congratulates Grantaire in the background. When she finally lets go, her cheeks are damp, and he dries them with a corner of his shirt, just like he used to when they were kids and went down to the cemetery on the edge of town to say hi to their mum.

Later, when everyone is winding down for the evening (they didn’t get any work done, not surprisingly), Grantaire comes and curls himself up in Enjolras’s lap, his head tucked under Enjolras’s chin and Enjolras’s arms wrapped loosely around his waist. Enjolras thinks he’s asleep until he mumbles something that he doesn’t quite catch.

“What was that?”

Grantaire sits up and looks at Enjolras, his eyes happier than Enjolras has ever seen them. “I said, took you long enough.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes and kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed


End file.
